


Pumpkin Spice

by LittleLinor



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Love Live! School Idol Festival (Video Game), Love Live! Sunshine!!, Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, Caning, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Impact Play, Kinktober, M/M, Pegging, Petplay, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-11-22 20:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: A collection of sometimes spicy but always kinky drabbles for Kinktober 2019





	1. Meaning (Chrono/Ibuki)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my little lost lambs, I AM BACK (somewhat)
> 
> I really haven't been writing/publishing enough lately, so I'm making up for that (and for the many unpublished long works I'm working on oops) with some drabbles to keep you Regularly Fed.  
This will probably be multifandom; I'll update this with which chapters are for which fandom to make it easier to navigate <3
> 
> Rating and warnings will be updated as needed.
> 
> DAY 1: "Devotion/Worship" - Cardfight!! Vanguard  
DAY 2: "Breathplay" - Cardfight!! Vanguard  
DAY 3: "Restraints" - Fire Emblem: Three Houses  
DAY 4: "Exhibitionism" - Fire Emblem: Three Houses  
DAY 5: "Petplay" - Devil Survivor 2  
DAY 6: "Impact Play" - Love Live Sunshine  


**Meaning**  
Chrono/Ibuki  
(Day 1: Devotion/Worship) 

You hadn't really understood the meaning of the word, until you stood at the very top of the door between worlds, your nerves frayed but your heart steady. Peaceful in its purpose, for maybe the first time of your life.  
Maybe if one had asked you earlier in your life, you would have given an answer, although a warped one. Was it admiration, you thought? You knew what it was like to admire someone, as a child. You felt that little pull of your heart when you looked at Kai's crushing will, at Miwa's easy manners and friendships. You admired them, and you wanted to follow them. To exist in their bubble, ignoring the whispers that could have been your classmates' voice or even your own, whispering about lapdogs and leashes. Perhaps that was what it was.  
Or maybe it was the desperation with one clung to a goal, or a superior, anyone who made use of them, the anxious, breathless gratitude for being given a reason one's existence could be tolerated.  
_Don't forget_, voices used to whisper whenever despair threatened to finally overcome your loyalty. Don't forget who you owe all this to.  
It's different now. It built, slowly, with each act of kindness, with each time he called you out not to punish you but because he believes you can do better. With each time he trusted you, although you gave him no reason to.  
With each time his own courage came through, not just in big, public displays, but in the quiet, private decisions where no one is watching. Perhaps it was respect, at first, rather than admiration: how could you not, when his heart has been so steadfast, even when his skills or decisions may fail him.  
Admiring one's skills, one's disposition, one's easy manners is no different from worshiping someone because they were born with a sturdier body, or raised earlier into a well of knowledge. It's in choices that one's strength truly matters. And it's those choices that you want to support now.  
Never before had you really understood the meaning of trust.  
You fight for the world, but you fight for him. Your life, your fight, your words: all are dedicated to him, and even through the fear, even through the pain, your heart settles with the warmth, the safety of having a purpose. Of finally having someone worthy of the sacrifices you so readily make.  
It feels like peace. It feels like home. You brush your fingertips against the evidence, against the mark he left on metal and on your heart, and you know that no matter the outcome, something in you will be happier than before.  
You deemed your life worthless, once, desperate to throw it away and take all those who caused you pain down with you. Now, there are simply things that you value more.  
To some, it might feel like the same thing. But to you, there is a whole world of difference.  
You cannot offer that which doesn't have value. And for Chrono, who should have been lost but illuminated your path and guided you instead, you would give anything.  
In him, you found worth. In him, you found direction. In him, you found courage, the strength to face yourself instead of paying for the crime of existing, the strength to walk forward, as yourself and no one's tool.  
It's no longer about the mission. It hasn't been about the mission for what feels like a long time, although it could be counted in mere days. It's because you have a choice that you're standing now, fighting for one who gets ever stronger, ever kinder. Fighting for who _you_ believe in.  
How could you ever have known that such sharpened, unrelenting focus could come from happiness rather than despair?  
You smile, and close your eyes for a fraction of second, and savour the feeling.  
Devotion.  
_I cut this path for you._


	2. Lock (Chrono/Ibuki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another for this ship because I'm weak and full of feels.  
This is half kink and half Chrono and Messiah sort of bonding over being protective people who love Ibuki lmao

**Lock**  
Chrono/Ibuki  
(Day 2: Breathplay) 

“It's like being locked,” Ibuki told him once, when he first brought up the idea, and maybe that's what had made Chrono curious, what had pushed him to reach beyond his apprehensions to _try_.  
Now, he thinks he understands. With this, more than with pain, more, even, than being tied up, it's like Ibuki sinks, within himself, within silence. He has no choice but to, if he doesn't want to move, to fight back, and so he does. Sinks, slowly, lulled by the rhythm of Chrono's breathing that he can't follow, by the hard beating of their hearts. When he breathes, mouth temporarily released, it's desperate but still quiet—deep panting that softly brushes against Chrono's fingers. And when Chrono smothers his mouth again, he lets out a tiny, weak noise of acceptance and lets him, stops breathing again, his eyes closed and his face relaxed like one who's cried itself out.  
When Chrono fought against Messiah before, he felt that this is the sort of lock they were using on him and his units. It was frustrating, sometimes—kindness, when one is struggling, can often feel patronising, or even humiliating—but he's always known that their power was never meant to harm. Messiah's lock is an embrace that doesn't violate. A calming, isolating hold. To someone whose senses go haywire, it would probably be a blessing. And most importantly, it's always, always, meant to protect.  
He's fought against Star Vaders, too, and that's a kind of lock he never wants to inflict on anyone.  
If anything, that Ibuki would compare him to Messiah, allow him the same power over him, or even more, the same view of his rawest vulnerabiliy, is humbling. It's a blessing and a privilege, but also a responsibility, and being seen with almost the same eyes as a being closing in on godhood makes his heart flutter in equal parts fear, excitement and love.  
He's pressed against Chrono's chest now, head caught between Chrono's face and Chrono's hand, and every shiver that courses down his neck tickles Chrono's own skin. Chrono presses lips to his nape to feel the tremors against them, and moves back to his ear, whispering of safety, of love, of his pride in him. It's so powerful that he feels bigger than himself, somehow, as if the feelings were too much for his body to contain and stretched him, beyond the limits of humanity. He feels everything and is everything and wraps, secure and infinite, around this man he wants to keep safe from the world, at least for these few short moments, for these long, stretched minutes and handful of scarce, subdued breaths.  
Ibuki's weight rests in his arms, and it almost feels like he could pick him up like a child and hold him to sleep.  
Maybe that's what Ibuki meant, all along.  
He wonders, not for the first time, what it would really be like, to be someone with countless lives to hold.


	3. Hound (Felix/Dimitri)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND NOW FOR SOMETHING DIFFERENT  
... tfw I have like three WIPS of longer fe3h fics but this is what I publish first.
> 
> Warning for violent language/imagery (and vague spoilers for Blue Lions path)

**Hound**  
Felix/Dimitri  
(Day 3: Restraints) 

The thing is, tying up Dimitri isn't exactly easy.  
Not because he fights back; Dimitri, despite the pretense of confidence and strength he gives to the public, is mostly one who values _discipline_, and if he managed to keep himself under control enough to fool almost everyone around him and the Officer's Academy into thinking he was harmless, he can definitely keep himself under control for Felix for an hour or two. No, it's hard simply because he's so _big_, his muscles grown from fighting and malnutrition into an uncanny shape that barely seems human even with his armour, and Felix, despite his strength and agility, is not exactly a very tall man, and just _reaching_ around him, above him, is a challenge. Even with him on his knees.  
And then there's that little matter of 'if he accidentally moves, he could very well break the ropes'. He could have gotten chains, but those would have brought back bad memories, and he's not sure Dimitri couldn't break those if he really tried, anyway.  
“I thought boars were supposed to lean down during the summer,” he mutters, pulling a rope across Dimitri's forearm and circling him to thread it through another loop at his back.  
“A real boar would have attacked you if you cornered it,” Dimitri points out, and he almost sounds innocent, damn him.  
“Not if I put a blade to your throat first,” Felix grumbles, pulling the rope taunt.  
To his surprise, Dimitri doesn't answer. No half-joke that bites too deep. No 'that may have been for the best'. Nothing.  
It almost makes him pause. But instead, he just silently keeps going, weaving his rope back to the front of Dimitri's ridiculously large body. He's making progress, then. Felix isn't about to ruin it by pointing it out like he needs his hand held through it.  
Dimitri isn't a child. He hasn't been a child for a long time. In that sense, that's one thing he's been ahead of Felix with. Felix feels like he's barely stepping into adulthood now. All these years, he held on to his brother's cold hand and refused to move on, refused to grow. Substituted growing stronger for growing up.  
And then, the war. And then his father. And then the realisation that he knew, all along, what it felt like to be ready to give his life for someone.  
Not that he'd ever tell him that, of course.  
When he's done winding what must have been his fifth length of rope, Dimitri is completely restrained, his arms pulled back, his wrists linked to his ankles, his knees spread apart. It almost looks like he's awaiting execution, and it sends a shiver down Felix's spine, but when he looks down at him and finally brushes some of his hair aside, there's a smile on the King's face. Not resigned, but relieved.  
And—he barely admits because the thought makes him equally warm and angry—even happy.  
“Yeah, that's right,” he says, lowering himself to one knee and lifting Dimitri's chin. “Even a boar like you can't do much once it's tied up.”  
Dimitri smiles again.  
“Thank you, Felix.”  
It's so earnest, and it kind of hurts, because in some ways the little boy who loved so readily is still there, and maybe that's the scariest part of it all.  
In the end, we are all only human. In a different world, he may have been the one to give him the kind of death some would call mercy.  
“… don't mention it,” he mutters, and can't stop himself from leaning his forehead against his, just for a second.  
A reminder that they both are here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I'm not writing that ship name, kiss my dyslexic ass


	4. In The Headlights (Byleth/Claude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO THIS CHAPTER IS ACTUALLY NSFW. As in actual sexual nsfw.
> 
> Post Golden Deer route... the only real warning I have is for Byleth's identity issues tbh. But this contains impact play, and mentions of harder kinks.
> 
> Why was this one so long oh my god. It could count for day 5 too because of the kink but I hate myself so I'll write another one

**In The Headlights**  
Byleth/Claude  
(Day 4: Exhibitionism) 

“Let me ask you one last time,” she says, her tone even—she's never quite gotten the hang of whispering for affect, and Claude knows her well enough that she isn't going to force herself to try now—and her fingertips stroking at the surface of his beard, “would this kind of rumour threaten your standing in Almyra?”  
“Oh, some will probably challenge me,” he laughs dismissively. “But if anything, it'll help in the long run. If I can manage both sides, I'll just look stronger. And it'll make _you_, esteemed Queen of Fodlan, go up in their opinion. If none of them can tame me but _you_ can, they'll have to re-evaluate their image of Fodlan as weak, helpless people who hide behind their dragons and their mountains.”  
“You say that as if it was all calculation and not an excuse to have me do what you want to you.”  
“It's both, love, it's both,” he answers with a wink. “Don't underestimate me. I can get the politics and the pleasure all in one fell swoop.”  
Her lips twitch, pull. A smile.  
“I believe you mean 'Professor'.”  
“Aww, can't I compromise with 'Teach'? 'Teach' was cute.”  
“I'm quite fond of 'Teach', actually,” she tells him with the lightest of kisses. “But not right now.”  
And without another word, she pushes him, presses him further against the heavy doors he was leaned back against, and under the weight and her inhuman strength, they open, sending him sprawling backward on the star terrace.

It's evident right away that despite how collected he was just before, he's been working himself up: his face, as he looks up, is flushed, his eyes shining with excitement, and the faintest hint of apprehension. He loves this, and they both know it, but there's a spark deep down under the countless fearless layers that will never quite be extinguished in someone whose childhood can be summed up by _what doesn't kill you makes you stronger_. And maybe it's playing with that very spark that gets to him, that fuels his fire, that lights his desire to experience and enjoy everything, even (especially) those that scare him. He's lived this long, she thinks, by making every experience _his_, and it's no surprise that Sothis held such fondness for him.  
She feels echoes of that fondness even now, the instinct from years ago when she and Sothis's hearts finally beat in unison around the words _little ones_. She is both young, and infinitely old, and all humans make her protective beyond what would be expected of a simple monarch. They are the same, and removed at the same time. Peers, and children. There is no part of her that is simple, and no single race, plane or time that she belongs to. And it is hard, to be one who is both human and goddess, and in a way neither.  
Claude has always understood that. He loves the human and the goddess both, treats her like a person regardless. And perhaps it's his dedication to experiencing all the world has to offer that makes him so open to being fucked by a deity as much as a friend.  
It would be easy, to be worshipped for what she is. But Claude worships _who_ she is, offers her both love and desire, as if she was, _is_ no more than herself, and it's something she cherishes with all her still unbeating heart.  
If he wants to experience this side of her too, then she has no reason to hold back. After all, feelings are still new to her, just a few years old, and there is much about herself she still wants to know.  
Right now, what she's learning is that his scared and excited grin looks even better under the moonlight, and that her desire to kiss his lips blue hasn't been dented in the least by the precarity of the situation.  
Let them watch, a streak of feeling that she knows used to be Sothis's sings deep inside of her. Let them know the extent of her love. Let them see her dance.  
There is no shame in love, in desire, in the visceral workings of humanity. And in his eyes she sees both shame and liberation dancing, his beliefs chasing the biting words and looks that still wrote themselves into him.  
Politics, pleasure, and fulfilment of a desire that runs even deeper, a hunger for life and change. Revolution. He really wants to have it all.  
“Your ambitions run deep even now,” she says, advancing on him with a smile even she can feel.  
“Aww, I guess you've got me all figured out, Professor.”  
“I could reveal your secrets to the world,” she says as she crouches in front of him, close. “Not the ones in your head. These.”  
She presses fingers to his chest, his heart.  
“I could tell them the man Claude really is. Your fears. Your _hopes_.”  
He shudders.  
“You could.”  
His eyes don't leave hers. She smiles.  
Under her fingers, through the layers of thick fabric, his heart hammers like a battering ram out of rhythm.  
She sets to baring him in a different way.

Claude's outfit is heavy. The best of Fodlan, and the best of Almyra, wrought into a whole that's somehow both challenging and artfully balancing the sensibilities of those who look to him with expectations, no matter where they hail from or the colour of their skin. It's just like him, to be familiar yet just uncomfortable enough.  
It's also like him to be heavily guarded, and his thick clothes are no exception (and neither are the various weapons he hides in them). She makes quick work of that, however, unwrapping and untying and unbuttoning with the ease of practice, tearing away his layers and revealing his body. The strength and scars come into view, and with them already blooming bruises where her hands shoved him, twin spreading purple marks where ribcage meets stomach.  
Her fingertips linger over them; he looks down and whistles a little, teasing and admiring.  
“Through all that padding? You weren't pretending.”  
“Are you not complaining?”  
She presses, and he hisses, then laughs, airy.  
“Not at all. By all means, keep going, professor.” He winks. “_Should I act a little more? 'I've been a very bad boy~ Punish me~'_”  
His diction sounds suspiciously like a salacious version of Lorenz, if a combination of those two things is even possible, but she opts not to call him out on it.  
“Physical punishment of students isn't allowed at Garreg Mach,” she points out instead.  
“But execution of blasphemers was,” he half-jokes back. “Our dear Rhea sure had her priorities straight.”  
“Are you trying to allude to something? I know what you've been saying.”  
“About religion? Are you going to punish me for not believing that you or your other half created this world?”  
“Is that what you want?”  
He chuckles.  
“No. I believe in _you_, love.” She decides to let it slide. “And besides, I never said I didn't believe in her. Just that she didn't create the world. Which, as we both know, is true. As for spiritual guidance, I'm more than ready to rely on you both.” He smiles again, softer. “And I don't think you'd actually want to execute me, even if you can turn back time to bring me back.”  
He's right. She's seen enough death during the war for any curiosity to be more than sated. He may have been the only student that she didn't watch die at least once, and she isn't exactly eager to correct that exception.  
Her fingers curl against his chest, and he rests a hand over hers, gentle.  
“Thought so.” A teasing grin. “I'll take whatever other punishment you have for me, though. As you can see,” he says, gesturing towards his bruised chest, “I'm rather hard to break.”  
“I'm aware,” she answers, humoured. Well, if punishment is what he wants, she's all too happy to oblige. “Turn around. On your knees.”  
His eyes glint. It only takes him a second to flip himself to his other side, propping himself on all fours instead of sitting up. The last of his clothes is still covering his hips and legs, but in this position, it's easy to pull them down, exposing him to the cooling night air.  
He gasps, and something inside her rears, like a dancer's feet rising to their toes, ready to jump.  
His scarf is still on the ground. Standing, she wraps its end around her hand.  
The first hit to his ass makes him gasp and giggle. The second, moan. By the third, he's curving his head down and resting it against his arms, breathing deeper.  
She could have gone easier on him. But Claude is resilient, and loves to be challenged; if she went easy of him, he'd be dissappointed.  
A fourth blow, and he's pressing his legs together. He'll bruise, the marks ripening from white to red on his skin are already telling her that, and she knows him well enough to know he's hardening too, if he wasn't fully already. But that's no reason to stop, and so she doesn't.  
Another lash of the scarf. The crack in the air is nowhere near as sharp as a whip's, but it's still loud enough to be heard, maybe from the ground. Definitely by anyone who'd still be on the first floor.  
“Hnn,” he gasps as another hit lands. “Maybe I should… start wearing a Fodlan-style belt…”  
“I could pick one up,” she says. She hits again and he moans, openly, half-pain and mostly pleasure.  
“I—I'm definitely… supporting… that idea…”  
“You want things sharper?”  
“It's… it's nice, but—_aaah!_”  
She smiles. Shifting her hold to hit him with only a corner seems to have worked.  
“Better?”  
All he gives in response is a whimper. It makes her heart soar with joy.

It takes a while for him to start breaking. She knows how to keep him on the edge, how to push him almost there and then slow down, allowing him just enough time to recover. By then, his ass is just an impressionist painting of splattered bruises and still-white marks, little lines and spreading bruises, and he's shaking, forehead pressed to his wrists, elbows down on the ground. It's cute, and she holds back the urge to pet his head, instead delivering a last, stronger hit and then crouching next to him again, patting his backside.  
“Crawl to the railing,” she tells him, and he whimpers and nods, rubbing his face down for a second before looking back up with a deep, heavy sigh, evacuating the pain.  
Now confident that he'll be all right, she stands again, and goes to recover the small bag and the items she left on the other side of the door.  
The harness would have been easier to put on with her old clothes; instead of fighting it there, she goes back to him, and waits until he's leaned himself forward against the railing to drop the robes draped around her form. Left in her underlayers and her cape, she slips one leg into the harness, then the other, and lifts it to fasten it around her waist. The dildo fits snugly against her, and she tries it a little, testing it; it doesn't move when she presses down on it. Perfect.  
Kneeling behind Claude, she reaches forward to wrap her arms around him, letting him feel the dildo pressing against his back as she does.  
“Are you still up for this part?”  
He shudders. Breathes.  
“Yes.”  
Out comes the lubricant jar. The skin of his ass, when she rests her hand on it, is blazing hot, and he hisses when she does, and even more as her cold, slick fingers slide between his cheeks and press against him. When she starts pushing in, he presses his chest forward against the railing.  
“By—_Professor_!”  
“That's right.”  
Her tone is still even, but her fingers say what her mouth can't, the first one sinking and curling inside him, and he lets out a strangled moan, legs shaking a little before he catches his breath. She doesn't leave him much respite: a few circling stretches, and she pulls her finger out, only to come back with more lube and a second one, sliding both of them inside. To his credit, he adapts fast, a testament both to his experience and to how aroused he is; relaxing this easily when every touch to his skin must burn is, in all honesty, impressive. It makes her work easier, and she makes good use of it, stretching him faster than she would normally have, if the fingering itself was the goal.  
But it's not the goal tonight. Tonight, she intends to press him against that wall and make him cry out until he's spent, and the faster she gets to him, the easier it'll be to make him lose control, before he can recover from being hit.  
A quick attempt with three fingers, and she deems him ready. Pulling back and wiping her fingers on a cloth, she slicks up the dildo instead, and wraps an arm around his midsection to hold him in place. He gasps, but doesn't let himself tense up, even when it presses against his entrance, and when she penetrates him, it's his shoulders and arms that he redirects everything to, holding on to the low wall for dear life. He's biting his lip, and even that isn't enough to completely muffle the noises he makes as she slides in slowly deeper.  
Finally, she stops, almost fully sheathed, and he lets out a long, drawn-out moan of relief. Chuckling, she ruffles his hair with her free hand.  
“Still doing okay?”  
“Y-you've done worse.”  
“Is that a challenge?”  
“You're th-the teacher… you make the lesson plan…” He breathes in, exhales, harshly, gets his voice under control. “You laughed.”  
“Did I?”  
“It's nice… I want to hear it again.”  
Her heart clenches a little. She lets her arm do the same, tightening its hold on him.  
“Maybe you can. You're good at drawing these things to the surface.”  
A smile, and his hand comes to rest on hers, on his stomach.  
“I'll work hard, then.”  
She squeezes, both acknowledgement and warning, and pulls back, just a little. He braces, still holding on to her.  
She thrusts. His first moan is muffled. The second one, louder, and by the time she's thrusted a third time, he's brought both hands back in front of him, holding on as best as he can and bracing himself, moaning openly. There's no reserve in him now, spent by the pain and bolstered by the exposed location, the night watching him and caressing his skin, and that's what she wanted, what they both wanted. He moans as she fucks him, his face half visible above the railing for anyone who cares to see, and his voice loses itself in the night, moan after moan. It's right like she wanted him, and she wraps her hand around his still-neglected erection in praise, rewarding him for his good work. He laughs, barely, between two gasps, when she does: he too has recognised the gesture for what it is. Doubtless he'll teasingly call her Professor a few more times after they're done. She doesn't mind.  
It doesn't take him very long. He's already wound up, and her rhythm is relentless, her thrusting hard and focused; he has no choice but to surrender himself completely, and that's always been the way to push him over the edge. As if his control was the dam that held the flood, and releasing it made him spill, emptying himself and crying out freely. She thrusts, and he does, and his voice is so light now as release washes through him and out of him, that she can't help but press a kiss to his back in silent praise.  
The laugh that answers her a few moments later is free, gleeful, and proud.  
“W-well… that was one to remember.”  
“Is that so?”  
She kisses his back again.  
“M-mm~. I-I could use a drink, though.”  
She holds him in place, and pulls back. Sighing, he collapses against the wall a little.  
“… nevermind, I'm not sure I want to move.”  
“… I can hold you here, if you want.”  
He seems to think about it. Blushing, he looks away.  
“… nah. I'll get up. Give me a minute.”  
She knows. Exposing himself while being fucked is one thing, but the vulnerability of the trembling, tender moments after is something else altogether. Just like she'd said earlier, Claude is more secretive about his heart than anything else.  
But that's why she's there to watch over him. As friend. As goddess. As spouse. As professor.  
She extends her hand.  
“Let's get to bed, Claude.”  
He smiles and takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, she's still wearing the Strap-on)
> 
> I would like to apologise to the poor flying sentries who (probably) had to keep focusing on the view outside the monastery during all this


	5. Fluffy (Yamato/Daichi)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo the normal prompt for day 5 is taking longer than expected and then I had some health Happenings, so I finished this one and the order will be tweaked a little. It'll be easier this way.

**Fluffy**  
Yamato/Daichi <s>(/Miyako???)</s>  
(Day 5: Petplay) 

The week had not been fun for Yamato Hotsuin.  
While being able to operate openly rather than in secrecy in this new world he had been reborn into had generally been a lot less strainful and isolating, there was one major downside to it: others.  
Or, rather, other countries. Being open meant being kept accountable, and having to deal with similar powers and agencies from all around the world, and sometimes—like this week—things could get… well, maybe not _nasty_, they couldn't afford to start an actual conflict between supernatural agencies, but tense. Tense, and exhausting, for someone like him, who disliked politics so much.   
He had the skills to handle it, having been better trained for it in this world, but that didn't mean it came to him easily. People exhausted him.  
So when his phone rang at half past five in the morning for what promised to be yet another tiring day, for a fraction of second, he almost wished he could be the kind of person who would ever hit snooze and sleep for another five minutes.  
Or, if he was honest, if he could somehow wake up on the next day and have everything already taken care of, he would be… extremely stressed, in practice, but still, the idea was attractive to his tired brain.  
Thankfully, the problem itself had already been fixed. All he had left to do was cleaning up, as tedious as that could be. It was still preferable.  
He slipped out of bed and reached for his phone.  
He didn't often have messages waiting during the night. He often kept longer hours than most of his subordinates, and unless there was an emergency during the night, they knew he'd be up and available before they were. Therefore, he was surprised to find one waiting for him—and not even from one of his subordinates.  
**Brother**, it read, **something has come up that requires your personal skills to handle. Unfortunately, I have no choice but to rely on you. Please join me on B3F of the Tokyo Headquarters.**  
A sight smile pulled at his lips as he opened the attachment, a map leading to a mostly empty part of the branch that used to be living quarters, before JP's was granted more room above ground. Although the worst of his competitiveness towards his “sister” of sorts (well, technically his sister in this universe, he supposed, although he also held two sets of memories where she'd never existed) had faded with time, seeing her be as competent as she was sometimes made some part of him tighten a little, involuntarily. It wasn't that he resented her. But some part of him refused to let go of the idea that if he was no longer humanity's most useful tool, he might lose his worth altogether.  
Therefore, having her ask for his help always brought him satisfaction. And for her to do it informally, choosing such a private location… well, maybe they might be able to rely on each other as family eventually, after all.

It took him fifteen minutes to get ready. As much as he disliked wasting time on his personal appearance, it was a necessity, if he had to appear composed before others; people always put too much weight in how others looked, which was unfortunate, but not something he could really fix on his own. Even during the septentrione crisis, and when he'd had a chance when the triangulum attacked, he'd taken the time to brush his hair and look impeccable. It reassured people, for some reason.  
Stepping outside his room and into the corridor of JP's Tokyo HQ, he felt revitalised. Less from the grooming and more by the prospect of handling matters his sister needed him for. Idly, at the back of his mind, he thought that maybe that was what felt most natural and fulfilling to him. When people relied on him.  
Now that he was doing it by choice, rather than by absolute necessity, holding such responsibility made him feel much more stable. Or maybe, he could almost venture, happy.  
The door Miyako's map led him to was locked, the card reader set to only accept his personal ID or hers. That was intriguing. Normally, they would at least allow a few high ranking JP's members. Or Otome Yanagiya, who was the person to contact for any medical emergencies involving either twin. She must really have wanted this meeting to be private.  
He swiped his card and opened the door.  
“Well? What do you need my help wi—”  
There was no Miyako. Instead, what waited for him inside the room, cuffed with wrists held back behind the waist and leashed to a table, was a human somehow sporting canine-like ears and what looked like a tail, skin unusually flushed with what couldn't be cold, in the too-warm room.  
A human he knew very well.  
Daichi looked up at him and smiled shakily.  
“… Daichi,” Yamato said once his brain whirred itself back into motion. “What is the meaning of this?”  
“… Miyako said you needed a break. Well—it's true you've been really tired, and—this was her idea—but I went along with it, I'm not trying to dump the blame on her or anything—”  
“Daichi.” Daichi shut up. He stared. Yamato stared back. “… why do you have ears?”  
“… because it's cute?”  
Somehow, his brain still refused to fully process the situation. But because he'd been trained his entire life to not let show when something confused or bothered him, he silently made his way to the table Daichi was leashed to, where he noticed an envelope, probably awaiting his attention.  
He opened it.  
**Dear brother.  
I've made arrangements to take over for today. These fools don't need more of your time, and that's the message we should be giving them. Please relax for today.  
I hope the entertainment I've prepared is to your liking. I await constructive criticism on the matter.  
Regards  
Miyako.**  
She'd signed it with her first name, rather than her full. That was… almost cute. He was torn between exasperation (really, who did they think he was, since when was he incapable of dealing with such a situation for a few days? Did they forget who led the world through the septentrione crisis?) and endearment, pride and gratefulness.  
Looking down at Daichi and seeing his eyes full of genuine care tipped the scale. The very second he decided that he might, actually, take them up on their offer, he felt a great weight fall on his shoulders and back, as if he'd somehow kept it aloft the entire time.  
Miyako (or the two of them, how was he to know?) had oh-so-kindly prepared a sofa next to the table, and he gratefully sat on it, sighing some of his fatigue out.  
“… Yamato?”  
He sounded worried. It was unfair of Yamato to let him wait like that with no answers.  
“Come here.”  
Daichi shuffled closer. It wasn't the easiest thing in his kneeling position, but he had experience on his side. When he was flush against the sofa, Yamato reached down to stroke at his hair.  
“… you worry too much,” he sighed, sinking his fingers deeper to rub at his scalp. “I could have handled it.”  
“I know you can. But…”  
“But?”  
“You deserve rest just as much as everyone else, you know? Just because you _can_ go on without rest doesn't mean you should.”  
“… maybe you have a point. But the power I was given comes with as much responsibility. I can't afford to put my personal comfort first. If I'm not ready if something happens, it could cost people their lives. I can't…”  
“See it this way, then. If you rest _now_ when we've prepared for it properly and Miyako is keeping an eye on everything, you'll have more energy to handle things better if something does come up later. You can't do that if you're exhausted.”  
Yamato fought the urge to look away. When had he become so firm? His eyes helf strength he'd never have expected when they first met.  
“… fine. I can't argue with that logic.”  
He leaned back into the sofa a little, although it felt unnatural. Maybe relaxing was something he needed to learn how to do, like everything else. Well, there had yet to be a skill he couldn't master, if he put his mind to it. He could become skilled at relaxing too.  
“So? This is your idea of 'relaxing'?” he asked, nodding towards the collar and leash keeping Daichi in place.  
“W-well. I thought you might enjoy it,” Daichi said. His blush was spreading from his face to the rest of his body again, and Yamato couldn't deny that it was insidiously attractive, some twisting part of him whispering to make his skin darken even more. Maybe leaving him naked like this hadn't been a bad idea after all.  
“Did you, now?” He slid a finger under his chin and tilted it up, revelling in the shiver that coursed along Daichi's neck, the little breath that escaped him. “I thought you disliked it when people call you my lapdog?”  
“… I mean, they're not entirely wrong, let's be honest. I just hate that they say it like it's _bad_. Like it makes me… less.”  
It was both courageous and vulnerable, and Yamato went back to petting him. Really, that boy could do bad things to his heart.  
“I don't mind working under you, you know that,” Daichi said, leaning into the touch. “Or… being yours,” he continued, more quietly, “like this.”  
Yamato's heart tightened, just a little.  
“… someday,” he murmured, “someone will realise that my greatest weakness is you.” He held the back of his head, stopping himself from pulling. “… please be careful. I don't want you harmed because of me.”  
Daichi chuckled, although his eyes had slid shut under the touch.  
“I can take care of myself. Promise.” He looked up and smiled. “Although it's kinda nice to know you worry about me.”  
Yamato rolled his eyes.  
“Just don't let them take you hostage.”  
“I won't, I won't. Promise.”  
Yamato huffed lightly, then bent forward to reach the table Daichi's leash was tied to. It came undone easily, and he wrapped it around his hand instead, sitting back again and pulling on it just enough to tug Daichi closer. With a bit of flailing and a light laugh, Daichi got to his feet and then straddled Yamato's lap, smiling bashfully at him.  
How was he so adorable?  
“So?” Yamato asked. “What kind of relaxing did you have in mind, exactly?”  
“W-well.” He paused, eyes flicking away, and then down to Yamato's chest. “That's up to you, really. That's kind of the point.”  
“Is that so?”  
“There's… stuff. In that cabinet over there. She left us food too. We could even just sleep if you want that.”  
“… in theory, that would be nice, but I doubt my body will allow me. I'm used to a strict schedule.”  
“Boy do I know,” Daichi sighed.  
Yamato chuckled.  
“That's more like it.”  
“Huh?”  
“While I can't deny seeing you flustered is a treat in itself, you've been unusually nervous.” A slight smile, nostalgic and bittersweet, slipped on his lips. “You haven't acted this scared of me in a long time.”  
If anything, it only made Daichi blush even more (not that Yamato was complaining).  
“Yeah, well, I waited here naked for half an hour and I didn't know how you'd react,” he grumbled, but he was smiling now.  
Yamato reached up to his head, petting at the artificial ears. It was easy to picture them twitching at the touch, with Daichi's personal brand of nervousness that had, despite his loudness, always reminded Yamato more of a small prey animal than a dog. His fingers eased down his hair in the same movement, and Daichi sighed into it, leaning his head forward as if to prolong the petting. Amusement sparkled in Yamato's stomach.  
“So,” he murmured, “is that tail attached the way I think it is?”  
Truth be told, he'd never seen one like it, but he could put two and two together easily by now.  
Their experiments in the bedroom definitely had helped.  
“You—” Daichi shuddered as Yamato's hand stroked at his waist and back, towards his ass, caressing down and dangerously close to the tail's base. “You know it is…”  
With his other hand, Yamato pulled Daichi's head close.  
“Will you still be able to hold it in after I'm done with you?” he whispered.  
This time, Daichi's breath shuddered along with him.  
“Why don't you find out?”

“Good morning, Brother,” Miyako said the next morning when he went to seek her out before his normal work hours. Daichi was still asleep in his bed; Yamato had decided to give him the morning off. He'd more than earned it. “Did you sleep well?”  
“More than enough. We need to talk.”  
“About what?”  
“It was bold of you to leave Shijima to deal with my possible reaction rather than weather it yourself. Unfitting of a Hotsuin.”  
She smiled.  
“Brother, I'm not a fool. I knew you wouldn't take it out on him; I also knew he was the one who had the best chance of convincing you. Isn't it hard to say no to him when he's all shy and genuine?”  
Yamato couldn't deny it.  
To himself, at least. He could very well deny it to her, and did.  
“Speak for yourself.”  
She smiled wider.  
“So? Any constructive criticism?”  
“… the food was adequate,” he sighed. “But next time, instead of conspiring, _discuss it with me._”  
“And risk you being difficult? Why would I?”  
“Do this again and you'll find out exactly how 'difficult' I can be,” he glared, but he knew no amount of threatening could work on Miyako, just like it couldn't work on him. It was in the blood, or maybe rather in the name. “If I know I'm taking the day off, I can take dispositions myself.”  
Somehow, Miyako's smile deepened again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But how did Daichi get the plug i—" How do you THINK?  
(He had help)


	6. The Fallen Angel's Sinful Banquet (Yohane/Mari/Ruby)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me forever oh my GOD
> 
> Anyway uh enjoy some shameless OT3 D/s with caning (using crops but details).  
(Also some fingerfucking, if anyone would rather not see that)

**The Fallen Angel's Sinful Banquet**  
Yohane/Mari/Ruby  
(Day 6: Impact Play) 

“U-um…”  
The receptionist who had welcomed her kept smiling, waiting for her to finish her question.  
“I—my name is Ruby Kurosawa. I was invited—they said I should just give my name at the front desk…”  
“Ah, Miss Kurosawa! Of course; we've been expecting you. Please wait just a moment.”  
Ruby nodded silently and waited as the receptionist made a phone call. Nervous, she pulled out her invitation yet again, as if the contents could somehow have changed in the ten minutes since she last did.  
**Merry Christmas, little demon**, it read. **You are summoned at 10 am on the 25th of December, on the highest floor of the tower of Babel, where humans of the world gather every night. There, we shall discuss your fall from grace. Do not be late.**  
Under the imposing gothic font, a drawing of a black feather served as signature. And then, lower, Mari's handwriting. _Awashima Hotel Ohara, just give your name at the front desk and they'll escort you <3 <3 See you there <3 _  
The entire thing was printed on the hotel's official stationery, and had been delivered to her mailbox by hand, sealed with a wax stamp. She doubted anyone could have faked it, but it did little to ease her nervousness.  
A man in uniform came to stand next to her. She tried her best not to jump.  
“Miss Kurosawa. Please allow me to escort you.”

It wasn't the first time she came to Mari's private suite. A couple of years before, when they had still been in school together, Mari had invited her to a sleepover, although she'd almost expected Dia to refuse. Another time, all of Aqours had stayed, admiring the rising sun as it finally rose over the sea.  
Since then, though, she had come several times. Mari, unlike Yohane, wasn't easily available, since she no longer lived in Uchiura, and that meant that when she was, more often than not she invited Ruby to her room directly, rather than outside. _That_ was reserved for longer stays, or holidays taken together.  
It wasn't frequent for her two girlfriends to meet up with her at the same time, though, and maybe that was what made her nervous. Or the fact that Mari hadn't come to pick her up at the front desk herself, like she usually did.  
To make matters worse, the man guided her not to the usual door leading to Mari's room, but to the one next to it. Doubtless also part of the suite, but the change brought her nervousness up another notch.  
He knocked on the door.  
“Yes?” Mari's voice called from inside.  
“Miss Ohara, your guest has arrived.”  
“Thank you. You may go.”  
Ruby blinked. What? No 'Let her in'? Was she going to have to open the door herself?  
Evidently, yes. The man bowed and left, heading back into the elevator. Ruby bit her lip.  
Silence. She waited another minute, just in case Mari _was_ going to come open after all, but as nothing happened, she braced herself and resigned herself to whatever would come. Breathing in deeply, she reached for the handle and opened the door.  
The room inside was pitch black. She started biting her lip again, then stopped herself: she couldn't afford to ruin her lips like this, after all the efforts she put in to look impeccable.  
“Come in, Little Demon. And close the door behind you.”  
The voice was Yohane's. She jumped a little, but braced herself and did as she was told, closing the door and shutting out the only faint rays of light that had come from the corridor. Now, the room was once more in complete darkness.  
“That's a good girl. Demon Mari, I think the time has come to reveal ourselves.”  
Someone snapped their fingers. Suddenly, lights came back into the room, making her blink: row upon row of candles—artificial candles, she saw once her eyes had adjusted to the light. From the side, Mari put a tablet down on a table.  
Ruby looked up, towards where Yohane's voice had come from, and gasped. She was dressed from head to toe in black leather and silvery metal, a dark figure glinting in the candlelight. A black, corset-like top, laced up the front and leaving just enough of a gap to show off her skin between the edges of the leather. Straps around her arms, her thighs, her bare stomach. A black skirt, and high, laced boots that felt familiar, similar to those she had worn with the outfit Ruby had designed for her once. When the two of them had led Aqours for a rock image show.  
Her legs were crossed, and she was seated on a throne of sorts, and although she wasn't actually wearing wings, a pair of them seemed to be attached to the throne's back, completing the image.  
If she hadn't somewhat expected it, she really might have thought her a queen of Hell descended upon Earth. Even accustomed to Yohane's style and extravagance, she found herself a little short of breath.  
Coming back to stand next to her throne of sorts, Mari winked at Ruby. She was wearing a somewhat similar outfit, although hers was heavier on the metal, spikes decorating it here and there, and less heavy on the belts.  
Ruby found herself blushing. In their time as school idols, she'd seen all her friends in honestly more revealing outfits than this, and just a show of a little skin wasn't going to get to her. But here the _intent_ was obvious, and more than that, the two of them were clearly targeting her weaknesses. She always did have a secret love for all things _cool_.  
“Welcome, Little Demon Ruby. I am glad to see you were able to come to Yohane's side.”  
_I saw you two days ago!_ she almost said, but Mari grinned and came to half-sit, half-lean against the armrest.  
“Hehe, are you surprised to see me? The truth is, we wanted to surprise you.”  
“Y-you definitely did that,” said Ruby, whose heart was still beating a little fast from having to enter a dark room alone.  
“Worry not, Little Demon. Today, Demon Mari and I are merely here to conduct an… evaluation.”  
“… evaluation?” Ruby asked, trying not to let her voice squeak.  
An evaluation of any kind was _definitely_ cause for concern.  
“Yes… today, we will see how far you have come on your path to falling from grace.” She stood, and pulled from one of her belts something long and black that Ruby took a few seconds to identify as a crop. Her heart stumbled a little, much like it had the last time she'd been acquainted with one. “So, my Little Demon,” Yohane said, walking towards her and tilting her chin up with the tip of her crop, “have you been good this year?”  
Ruby gulped.  
“Y-yes?”  
“EXACTLY!”  
Ruby jumped, and then jumped a second time as Yohane hit her crop on nearby furniture.  
“You've been _too_ good! A divine presence! A pillar of society! A shining star! Even the heavens shield their eyes from your radiance!”  
Despite the aggressive tone, Ruby blushed. It wasn't often that she received such praise, even if it wasn't worded as such.  
“No, this simply can't be tolerated. How will you ever fall from grace like this? At this rate, we will lose you to the angelic hordes! They will snatch you and outfit you with white wings, and we shall never see you again!”  
“We _are_ very worried about you, Ruby,” Mari agreed, nodding her head very seriously. “You shine so brightly that soon, we will be unable to hide your glow from the world. We cannot keep you safe much longer, if this goes on.”  
Yohane pressed her face to her outstretched hand, clearly in the throes of much despair. Ruby swallowed.  
“I-I'm sorry?”  
Suddenly, Yohane straightened again, looking her in the eye.  
“Hmph… no matter. We will just have to thwart their plan before it comes to fruition. If you've been too good, we shall make up for it.” She took a step forward, and gripped Ruby's chin in her hand, smiling down at her. “Little Demon Ruby… it is time for you to get _naughty_.”

They made her strip. It really wasn't anything new, and she had done so for both of them a number of times, but doing it in front of _both_ suddenly made things a lot more scary.  
And, if she was honest with herself, a lot more exciting.  
Bared, shivering at the barely-warm air of the room hitting her skin, their eyes on her, she couldn't help but press her legs together a little already. Mari grinned. Yohane put on a perfect smirk.  
“Good. There is hope for you yet. Now, my little demon, open the box on that table.”  
All too eager to look at anything that wasn't their appraising eyes, Ruby quickly walked to the table Yohane was pointing to. The box on it was wrapped in a large ribbon with an extravagant bow, shiny black satin on red cardboard. She lifted the lid.  
Inside, she found clothes. First, a black thong that she obediently slipped on, her entire body quickly flushing. Somehow, it made her feel even more naughty than being naked had, not least because she could feel it between her ass cheeks. Then, a bra of sorts that supported her chest yet failed to cover much of it in any substantial way. There were more frills than actual covering fabric, and as she put it on, a sense of familiarity hit her. Where had she seen it before…  
It was when she pulled out the skirt that she finally remembered, and she hid her face in it, flushing so hard she could feel her cheeks burn.  
This was hers. Or rather, it was her design. A whimsical doodle she had made in a moment of self-indulgence while waiting for Mari one day, that she had thought carefully hidden in her notebook. She hadn't shown it to anyone! She hadn't _dared_ show it to anyone, even her girlfriends; allowing herself to be sensual, sexual was one thing in the heat of the moment, but outside the bedroom, she still felt easily embarrassed by her ideas, her desires, her _tastes_. How much she thought about it. She wasn't _ashamed_, exactly, but the weight of being the daughter of a strict, traditional and rather public—if locally—family still pressed on her shoulders. There were _expectations_. As their daughter, and as an idol, she had an image to maintain.  
She didn't know whether to be overwhelmed by the sweetness of it, or just mortified. Mari must have seen the drawing and made a copy of it, or commited it to memory. She must have _commissioned_ it. Someone had made this outfit. For her.  
She hid her face deeper inside the fabric.  
“Well?” Yohane's voice reached her. She bit her lip, reminded herself to _stop doing that_, and pulled away.  
“Y-yes, Yohane.”  
She put on the skirt. It flared around her hips, spreading as if being twirled, but the cut and texture of the fabric, the petticoat kept it up, almost parallel to the ground, its frills supporting it, leaving everything underneath still exposed. If she bent forward even a little there would be nothing left out of view at all.  
Next came garters (sturdy, but adorned with ribbons, their tails brushing against her already heated and sensitive skin) and stockings, and a choker that could almost be called a collar. They had added a ring to it, she noted, and felt herself grow even hotter at the thought. It was no coincidence.  
Leather bracelets and a headband with tiny horns completed the look. The perfect litle demon. She'd put so much thought into the outfit, but the thought of them picturing her in it was even more embarrassing than having pictured herself. And now they didn't even need their imagination anymore.  
Completely red, she came back to stand before the throne, making herself lift her head to look at them straight. Displaying herself.  
She wanted them to _see_ her. Despite how easily it flustered her, it was still what she wanted most of all. Their eyes on her. Their _attention_.  
Mari clapped her hands in delight.  
“Awww, you look so _cute_.”  
“Yes,” Yohane agreed, her own face flushing a little under her makeup. “Indeed. You make a good little demon; it's a good thing we caught you on time. Now, it's time to take you back.”  
She nodded, excitement quickly overcoming her nervousness. Her heart was fluttering with both, and it felt good; she wanted to lose herself in it. Smiling, Mari walked around her to stand behind her, and wrapped her hands around her. Sighing, Ruby relaxed into her embrace.  
“Ruby,” Mari murmured, sweet but serious. “Is there any reason you wouldn't be able to wear tights for the next week or so?”  
Ruby's head swam. Oh, so _that_ was where they were headed.  
“N-no. It's fine.”  
It was winter. She braved the cold more often than not, but no one would think it overly weird if she covered her legs more than usual. Dia was home for the holidays too, and might notice, but despite her early reticence, she supported her little sister's choice in her relationships, although Ruby knew she had approached at least one of her partners with a firm _if you ever break her heart_ speech.  
“Good.”  
A little kiss to her ear, and before she could react, Mari's hand moved up, and clipped something into the ring on her collar. Ruby didn't even need to look to know what it was.  
Releasing her from her hold, Mari pulled back and walked around her, then towards Yohane, pulling Ruby along on the leash. It wasn't a strong pull, but Ruby followed without resistance, equally eager and nervous. The playful twinkle in Mari's eyes was a given, but there was a light in Yohane's that felt almost hungry, as if all her persona had left her mannerisms to concentrate in her heart and gaze instead. She way she was smiling made Ruby's heart shiver.  
“Good, very good~ Now you can't run away from your masters. Let's see them try to take you from us like this.  
“I-I wouldn't run away anyway.”  
Yohane smiled wider, happily.  
“That's right,” she said, reaching to pet Ruby's head, “you're a good little demon. Now, let's get started.”

She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small silver chain, ending in two clips. Before she could react, Ruby's wrists were caught and pulled close, and each clip went into one of her bracelets.  
Cuffs. They'd turned them into cuffs.  
Technically, she could have taken them off if she tried. But that wasn't the point at all. What mattered was that they'd dictated her hands stay together, and they would. She wasn't about to fight it.  
“The leash, if you please.”  
She raised her hand, palm up and open, and Mari put the end of the leash down into it, allowing her to grab it. Turning her back on Ruby, she pulled her along and back to her throne, sitting down on it with a hum. A mere second later, she'd pulled the leash taunt, wrapped it tighter around her hand, and tugged Ruby down, her head level with Yohane's stomach and chest, forcing her to spread her legs a little to stabilise herself.  
“Rest your head on Yohane's lap, Little Demon,” Yohane crooned. “You'll need it.”  
Whimpering lightly, Ruby leaned more of her weight forward, and let her shoulders rest on Yohane's knees, her head against her thighs. Yohane's free hand came to pet at her cheek and hair; Ruby's skin, already buzzing with excitement and embarrassment and arousal, felt like it was catching on fire.  
“That's a good girl,” Yohane murmured, almost breaking character. Then, she raised her voice again. “Demon Mari. Would you please get her warmed up?”  
Ruby held back the cry of 'warmed up?' that almost escaped her and instead squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face down against Yohane's lap to hide instead. She knew exactly what was coming.  
And thus, when the first hit of Mari's own crop burned a line of fire across her ass, she only let out a tiny whimper.  
Yohane pet her hair.  
“Keep going.”  
Another sharp noise, another line of burning pain, close but not parallel to the first one. Yohane was very methodical and good at taking her apart, but Mari was more whimsical with her lashes, more playful. Less pressuring, but also impossible to predict, and on her fraying nerves, the uncertainty of never knowing when pain would strike next made her tremble a little, hiding her face even more. Another hit. Closer to her thighs this time, and she yelped, muffled by Yohane's skirt.  
“Now, now,” Yohane said, petting her hair again and reaching down to tilt her face sideways where she could see her. “Why are you trying to hide?”  
“I…”  
“Are you worried people will hear you? Fear not, Demon Mari and I have cast a spell upon this hellish chamber.”  
“I booked the whole floor and made sure the room under ours is empty,” Mari explained, caressing Ruby's already scalded ass with a gentle yet cold hand. Ruby's legs trembled a little, and to her mortification, she felt telltale dampness between them. It was still hidden from the others, but _she_ knew. They'd barely hit her and she was already this turned on. “You can scream to your heart's content.”  
“I…”  
She closed her eyes, and pressed her cheek to Yohane's thigh, but didn't try to hide again. Well, she definitely wasn't about to cry out on purpose, but if they wanted to push her that far… she'd let them. It wouldn't take much anyway: she was loud, and she knew it.  
Another hit, higher, crossing the two first ones. She let out a little cry, trying to keep her legs stable. It was so _hard_, with her arms where they were, and harder still with how tightly she was trying to keep any evidence of her arousal in. She wasn't even sure why she was trying. Pride maybe? No, she didn't care about embarrassment at this point.  
Maybe she just didn't want them to see it and take pity on her early. Maybe she was growing increasingly eager for fingers somewhere other than her hair, but she didn't want them to cut the fun short.  
Maybe _that_ was pride, in its own way.  
Mari hit her again. After a few more, she stopped keeping track of where they landed; the pain, sharp and precise as it was, was starting to bleed and blend, all of her skin blazing. She panted against Yohane's legs, and Yohane kept stroking her hair, her face, like one would stroke a fluffy pet, like just a metre away Mari wasn't striking her with something that made her gasp and cry out. Her legs were starting to shake, and even more so as Mari started to slow down, spacing out her hits more, giving her more time to brace and grow nervous between each hit. Ruby kept her eyes shut tight and tried to focus only on remaining stable, on keeping her head pressed down.  
When Mari's hand crept up her thigh and between her legs, she yelped and almost jumped.  
“Oh, she's 'warmed up' all right,” Mari sang, fingers fluttering just barely against the edge of her folds.  
She whimpered and hid her face again for a second. And she'd tried so hard, too!  
From where she was, she felt Yohane's stomach tighten a little with silent laughter.  
“Teehee—ahem. Good. Splendid!” In a few syllables, she'd rebuilt her Fallen Angel voice back to its full glory. “See, my Little Demon, you can be naughty when you want to. You want to fall from grace so badly, don't you?”  
“Yes...” Ruby breathed out against the fabric.  
“Hmmm? I can't hear you.”  
She gulped, and lifted her head.  
“Yes!”  
Mari hit her again, right under her ass. It took her completely by surprise, and was _much_ too close to where Mari's fingers had been mere seconds before, and the yell she let out was so high pitched that you'd almost have thought she was a timid first year again, if not for the very blatantly aroused note the end of it took on.  
“Tell me what you want, Little Demon.”  
“I—I want to fall from grace! P-please make me!”  
Yohane smiled, and pet her cheek.  
“Did you hear that, Demon Mari?”  
“I did~”  
“Well… if the Little Demon begs for it so desperately… it can't be helped. I will take the reins now. Let's give her a real taste of hell.”  
Mari hummed, and pat her ass lightly. She would barely have felt it, but with her skin exposed and burning, it made her gasp and whimper again.  
“But, oh Great Yohane, I think her legs are already reaching their limit… it would be a shame if she came to collapse before you can unleash your full demonic power, would it not?”  
“Hmm… you have a point.”  
She tugged on the leash again, up, this time.  
“Come, Little Demon. Let us move to the true site of tonight's debauchery.”

As Ruby mostly expected, the place they brought her was the luxurious bed on the other side of the room. What she _didn't_ expect was for them to make her climb and kneel on it, rather than bend over its edge like she thought.  
When Mari started piling pillows just in front of her legs, understanding dawned on her, and the part of her that was growing conspicuously hot and wet tightened in excitement and embarrassment. When Yohane gave Mari the leash and she was pulled down over the pillows, she was all too grateful for the excuse to hide her face again.  
If she'd felt exposed bent over Yohane's lap, in this position she couldn't hide anything anymore. Propped up on the pillows, her ass was in full display, just as she was starting to feel strain on her legs, Yohane took hold of them and spread them, rebalancing the weight so she was mostly resting on the pillows, the rest of her weight tipped forward and down where her face and shoulders were pressed to the bed.  
If any of them had still had any illusions as to how aroused she was, those were now gone. Not only were her ass, crotch and thighs in full view, but the position had made her heat up even more, and it was definitely showing through the flimsy excuse for underwear they'd given her.  
She panted, feverish, as Yohane ran fingers up her thigh.  
“That's my good little demon,” Yohane murmured, and she whimpered, subconsciously tilting her hips further forward and her head deeped into the bed. Yohane laughed. “That's right. Not even you can resist Yohane's power of darkness. You've just about fallen already.”  
Ruby whimpered.  
“Please…”  
She wanted—she wanted Yohane to finally hit her. To be able to cry out, and forget to be embarrassed about it. To collapse and let go and have the pain and pleasure and sensation _not stop_.  
From her spot hidden in the bedsheets, Ruby couldn't see anything around her anymore. But she _heard_ the grin in Yohane's voice, that she didn't even try to hide anymore.  
“Demon Mari! Keep her still! We shall grant the Little Demon's wish.”  
Mari held down her head, more tender than controlling, one hand petting her shoulder. Ruby's breath sped up in anticipation. The first hit came.  
A quick, light noise in the air, and then fire lashed across her skin again, on her thighs this time. She yelled, taken off-guard, then keened as Yohane hit her again, higher. In this position, the crop was coming close, _too_ close to her folds, and with every new hit that Yohane started giving her, sometimes there, sometimes on her ass again, she clenched, torn between the deep, instinctual fear of being hurt there and the heated desire to _feel it_, to feel the crop's cane hit and burn where she was most sensitive, most desperate for contact, most ready to grind down on anything that deigned make its way into her.  
She was desperate, fully and truly desperate, far beyond shame, and what little restraint she had was crumbling along with it. Yohane's hits were carefully calculated, catching her where she feared them most, needed them most, relighting an area whose flames had started to dull or doubling down on a spot that made her spread her legs further, giving up on supporting herself on them at all. It was methodical and merciless, and as she lost herself in her coming sobs, she surrendered all she had left, reaching for Yohane in her mind, _thank you, thank you, thank you._

When Yohane brushed a hand up her thigh, she wailed. She hadn't expected it, and it was so much, too much, such a large area of contact for her body that only expected more pain. Gently, Yohane reached for her hip with her other hand, carressing soothingly.  
“Ruby.”  
Ruby sobbed, and whimpered in ackowledgement. She'd lost track of time.  
Very carefully, Mari turned her head to the side, smiling down at her.  
Hitting the air, the tears on Ruby's cheeks chilled. She sniffed, and squeezed the last ones out of her eyes, and Mari brushed them off her cheeks.  
“You did good.”  
Ruby nodded, tearfully and then smiled, just a tiny bit. Her ass and thighs hurt so much that it seemed they took up her entire awareness, every nerve in her body, as if the rest didn't exist anymore, but now that she was being comforted, the residual burn of it felt good. The ache was warm.  
She closed her eyes again, spent, proud.  
Yohane tapped one of her ass cheeks, very lightly. It hurt, but Ruby found herself giggling a little.  
“That's better,” Yohane said. “You worried me, Little Demon. I thought you'd plunged into hell too quickly.”  
Ruby breathed.  
“Don't… don't underestimate me.”  
Mari laughed.  
“I told you. She's stronger than you think.”  
“Hmm. I see that now.”  
The bed dipped, and Yohane climbed on it behind her. Ruby moaned, every movement waking the heat in her skin and flesh, but when Yohane leaned against her, she sighed in pleasure.  
How good it felt, to be this limp. She could have gone right to sleep, or come until her body no longer could.  
Laying curled against her side, her weight still pressing on her, Yohane caressed her hip. It was warm, and comforting, and every time Yohane's fingers brushed close to the forming bruises, her breath caught, sending lazy pleasure and arousal coursing through her again.  
“Well, my Little Demon,” Yohane said, her hand trailing down her ass and between her legs, and _oh, finally, finally, please_, Ruby was a breath away from begging again, “I think you've earned a reward.”  
Ruby nodded furiously. Yohane's fingers nudged the strap of her underwear aside and sunk into her, effortlessly, and she moaned, equal pleasure and relief, her thighs barely even twitching and her internal muscles not tightening at all. She was _so ready_ for Yohane to go as deep as she wanted, and she could almost have asked for a third finger on the spot, if she wasn't too spent to do anything except stay limp and enjoy it. Even the lack of contact on her clit could not dampen how satisfying it felt.  
“Do you want this?”  
She panted.  
“Yes. Yes. Please.”  
Yohane kissed the back of her neck, smiling.  
“Well, Demon Mari, I think we have more work ahead of us.”

When Ruby woke up again, hours later, there were soft, comfortably cool sheets resting against all her tender skin, and a girl pressed on either side of her, warm, their arms keeping her safely wrapped between their bodies. She sighed, shifted a little, letting the cool drape of the sheet soothe the aching burn on her thigh, and leaned her head against Yohane's hair again, comfortable and still much too limp to want to do any real walking anytime soon.  
Yohane muttered something in her sleep, then went back to snoring lightly. She was drooling a little. Ruby repressed the urge to laugh.  
A hand brushed hair away from her nape.  
“Good evening,” Mari whispered. “How are you feeling?”  
“Like I could sleep for another two days,” Ruby confessed, smiling.  
“I'd say you've earned it, but I can't kidnap you for that long.”  
“I know.” It was a shame, but still, it was the thought that counted. It felt good, knowing her girlfriends were watching out for her.  
Still, bruises aside, the other traces of their earlier fun were starting to become a little too conspicuous on her skin. They'd all gotten rid of their clothes before getting into bed (and had taken care of hers, which she was grateful for), but all the sex and exertion and then staying sandwiched between them had made her sweat more than she liked to think about.  
As if reading her mind, Mari kissed the back of her neck.  
“It'll probably be a while before our great fallen angel wakes… does this 'Little Demon' want a nice shower and bath? To get you all shiny again?”  
Ruby giggled.  
“Yes. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They also fed her candy and fries in bed before sleeping but Mari doesn't care because she's not the one who has to clean the crumbs.


End file.
